.041 Shapes
He remembers fighting with Zod on the roof. Remembers struggling over the dagger, remembers fighting to live. And then he remembers giving up, knowing that the only way to banish Zod and save his home, his people, was to die.
It had seemed so simple at the time, but then there was a tearing pain in his chest and he stumbled backward, hitting the low wall that bordered the edge of the roof. He'd glimpsed, for a just a brief second, a stunned look on the Kandorian's face, and then Zod was being dragged away by the energy from the Book of Rao, still screaming defiance as he disappeared.
And then he fell.
The wind whistles past his ears as he hurtles through the air, and he has a brief moment of regret that he never really learned to fly. Too late now, of course, he thinks, in a flash of dark humor.
When he hits the ground, it's painful in ways that he never could have imagined. But, to his unending surprise, he can still feel – feel the hard concrete beneath his back, feel the cold rain falling on his face, feel his life slipping away as he bleeds to death in a dark alley.
He'd half-expected the fall to kill him immediately. He's human now, thanks to the blue kryptonite dagger, and no human could have survived that kind of fall. But, maybe the dagger didn't work as fast as he thought, maybe there's just enough Kryptonian left in him to let him live long enough to watch as the last of his birth planet disappears, forever.
It's a sobering thought. He's known for years that he's the last of his kind, but now that it's really true, he finds himself grieving for the possibilities of what might have been. And he wonders, in some dim, dark corner of his mind, if Krypton is going to end with him, here, in this dark, cold alley.
There's a part of him that wants to reach up with the last of his strength and pull the dagger out, to let himself start healing, to survive. But the sky is still illuminated by the energy of the Book of Rao, and he knows that pulling the dagger out means that there'll be nothing keeping him from being sucked into the vortex. He lets out a shaky breath and lets his hand fall back to the pavement. The dagger stays embedded with his chest.
His vision is going gray at the edges; everything is soft and blurry. He's tired, so tired, and he gives up the fight to keep his eyes from closing. It's still raining, getting colder by the minute, but he barely feels it. Can barely feel anything, any more, and so that's why he's surprised by a rush of heat suddenly centered on his chest.
He can feel himself moving, the world spinning around him even with his eyes closed. When the spinning stops, he's leaning against something soft and warm, and he can feel a puff of warm air against the side of his face.
"Don't give up on me, Smallville," a familiar, beloved voice murmurs in his ear.
As much as he wants to just give up, he can't not obey that voice, so he hangs on. He clings to the sound of her voice like a lifeline, listens as she orders him not to die. He can hear her struggling not to cry and he wants to comfort her, but he can't even open his eyes, let alone tell her that everything's going to be okay.
Because it's not going to be okay. He's dying, and there's nothing either of them can do about it. He just regrets that he never got the chance to really say goodbye. All he really wants is to just open his eyes, just see her face one last time.
There's a sharp, sudden pain in his chest, and he wonders if he's been stabbed, again. But, then the pain fades, replaced by a feeling of warmth that spreads throughout his entire body.
'This is it,' he thinks. 'Lois, I'm sorry.'
But, he's not fading away. Things are getting sharper, almost overwhelming, so he focuses on the sound of her voice, lets it lead him back to her. Slowly, he opens his eyes, everything blurry except for her face above his, her eyes lighting up when she sees him awake.
"Welcome back," she murmurs, and he can hear the joy in her voice.